Friends Will Be Friends
by IHeartNealLarkin
Summary: He had found his friends sitting by the fire, drinking wine, and enjoying the camaraderie. One shot.


**The Three Musketeers:**

**Friends Will Be Friends**

**Written by**

**AramisLover**

**A/N: **_I am reposting this story of mine, as it were my first shot at this thing for Three Musketeers. This just basically a one shot. It isn't much and I have done all I can to repair my mistakes. Please enjoy once again. The title is silly but it is what it is. Enjoy and smile._

Aramis could not believe it… he just could not bring himself to believe. Who would have believed that words, being spoken in anger, could have wounded him so deeply? The words he had spoken – more likely had shouted at his friends, his brothers, should not have been said.

Not in the manner he had placed the words in.

His friends, his brothers, are all that matters to him more then anything in this cruel world. He has his Faith with him always – but not his friends.

Is it too late to erase the damage his words would surely have caused his friends to suffer from?

The time to dwell upon what had transpired between he and his friends must be placed on hold – for the time being.

Especially not now when he is in the middle of fighting for his life.

Here he is.

Fighting for his life and not one of his friends are here to save him. He is alone. Fighting against a few of the cities thugs. He was just taking a walk through the streets of Paris, hoping to find some clarity. To clear his mind of what had happened between he and his friends.

They did after all just returned from a difficult mission, that may, or may not, have become far worse then it already was. The mission had made them all at ends with each other and the lack of sleep did not help the matter either. Neither of them where wounded but they might as well have been.

Aramis will dwell no more upon the matter, not until the thugs attacking him have been dealt with. His right-forearm was bleeding heavily after one of the thugs had cut him.

He had acquired more minor wounds since this fight broke out.

"Aramis!"

Somewhere amongst the darkening alley, Aramis had thought he had heard his name being shouted out by a familiar voice. One that had caused Aramis to sigh in relief, his friends must have come in search of him. As he had been out of the house longer then he originally had planned – then again. He did not actually have a plan when he had stormed out of the house.

There may be hope after all.

Iron clashed against iron, causing sparks to fly at impact.

"How did you find me?" Aramis breathlessly asked of Athos.

"I don't now is the right time to speak," Athos replied with a smirk visible on his lips.

Athos had grown concerned for the former priest, one of his best friends, his brother in all but blood. They had all said things that they never meant to say but they did. Everything, and everyone, had gone silent the moment Aramis stormed out of the house.

The hours had grown late and still Aramis had not returned. And it was D'Artagnan who had said that they should go and look for their friend, their brother.

They had searched everywhere for the former priest, they were about to give up when the clash of arms, the sounds of wounded men crying out, had caught their immediate attention. And so, they ran towards the place where the sounds were coming from. It is not uncommon to hear these sounds in the city – but still they ran all the same.

It was not until they came to a halt to get a glimpse of masked thugs, there were about ten all so still standing, attacking a lone man. The man was indeed the former priest and Athos could tell that Aramis was putting up quite a fight.

The former priest sure knows how to put on a show.

So, here they are all now.

Fighting back to back as though nothing had happened, as though they had never torn each other's throats out by mere words. They were fighting as one.

Aramis could not help it when he had cried out in shock the pain was on fire.

Porthos spun around the moment he had heard one of his companions cry out and it made him angry. One of Aramis' hands was clutching his side; Porthos could see the sweat dripping off the former priests chin.

With a cry, Porthos fought the thugs.

Athos was by Aramis' side the moment he had heard his friend cry out, he saw the former priest fall to the ground in a heap.

Eventually all of the thugs had been dealt with.

Now every ones main concern, main focus, is centred upon their wounded brother-in-arm. They have all seen themselves gain nasty wounds in the past, but still – to see a friend, a brother, get hurt. The sight still haunts them.

"Aramis?" Athos gently spoke the wounded mans name, as he had placed his hands upon the wound that had cause Aramis to cry out. "Can you hear me, my friend?"

All Aramis could offer them in reply was grunt, as he could not find the strength to speak.

"Come, let us leave this place," Porthos said. He bends down in order to carry Aramis. "We must get Aramis to a doctor."

* * *

A few weeks later…

Aramis was up and about, as though nothing had happened. There was no need for him to say the words he needed to use, so that he could apologise to his friends.

His stomach wound still aches but that did not stop him from crawling out of bed. The need to stretch his leg had grown great.

He had found his friends sitting by the fire, drinking wine, and enjoying the camaraderie.

Oh, yes. Everything is going to be all right once more.

"Is it not a tad little early in the morning to be drinking wine?" Aramis smirked slyly at his friends.

"And you should still be in bed resting," Porthos said with a smirk.

Aramis was about to say something to the big man, when a dreadful smell reached his nose. It smelt as though something had crawled up and died.

"Who died in here?" D'Artagnan muttered as he covered his mouth and nose with his sleave.

"That is something that I would like know," Aramis had said, one of his hands was covering up his nose and mouth all the while fighting off the urge to run back to the safety of his bedroom.

Where the air smells clean.

The smell intensified the moment a sound escaped from Porthos' chair, causing everyone to gag; even Porthos was finding it hard to breathe amongst the foul smell.

"Do that again and I will kill you very slowly and painfully," Athos had managed to say between gasping for air and gulping down more of his wine, hoping it will wash the foul taste that had taken hold of the air.

"What is that smell?" Planchet asked the moment he had entered the small living area, with a pile of firewood in his arms.

Oh, yes everything is back to normal – that is if the definition of normalcy applies to the dysfunctional inseparables.

The End 


End file.
